


stay here (and frighten me)

by FreshBrains



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Community: 100_men, Community: comment_fic, Courtship, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, Developing Relationship, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Royalty, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 09:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6900601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the third time since the sun rose over the country of Wakanda, Bucky finds himself wandering aimlessly on the palace grounds, wondering what is real and what is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stay here (and frighten me)

**Author's Note:**

> For the LJ comment_fic prompt [T'Challa/Bucky Barnes, staying in T'Challa's palace was not what Bucky ever thought would happen, but he's happy it did](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/720031.html?thread=95047583#t95047583) and the LJ 100_men prompt #14: [Fear](http://fresh-brainss.livejournal.com/6514.html).

For the third time since the sun rose over the country of Wakanda, Bucky finds himself wandering aimlessly on the palace grounds, wondering what is real and what is not.

He’s heard stories since he’s woken up, places of magic and fantasy, places he’d only ever heard about on the radio or in comics before. He’d _heard_ of Wakanda, sure, but it might as well have been a storybook place for all it was shrouded in secrecy during the war. It’s the same as Asgard—a real place, but a place so _different_ from his world that it was an entirely new reality.

Wakanda is warm, the air heavy and sultry, the sun hot. It’s also a quiet country—the only people walking the streets, taking the chrome-shiny trains and cars, shopping at the beautiful boutiques, are Wakandans. Bucky’s never seen so many beautiful, well-dressed people in one place before, and they use technology not even _Stark_ would mess with. The entire city buzzes around T’Challa’s palace, bursting with an excited radiance, a reverence, a thrum Bucky can feel inside his soul.

It frightens him. This world, this wealth, this _beauty_ , scares him. And for now, he’s stuck here.

“Mr. Barnes,” a woman says, one of the bodyguards assigned to Bucky—she’s young and beautiful, reminding Bucky a bit of Natasha, and T’Challa says she is studying to be a chemist. But first, she serves her king. “Perhaps it is best if you keep away from the veranda for now.”

Bucky nods, cheeks warming, and moves back inside. He is not a guest here—he is a protected prisoner. An asset— _no_ , not an asset. Not anymore. But until his mind is clear again, he will not be free. “Sorry,” he murmurs, and the girl just gives him a kind smile, ducking her head.

“The king will be taking dinner soon,” she says, escorting him through the doors and locking them behind her. “I’m sure he’d love to see you up and moving.”

_I’m sure he’d love to see me back where I belong_ , Bucky thinks, but simply follows her in silence. The palace walls loom high above him, decorated in ornate framed paintings and photographs of the royals and Black Panthers of years before, their faces stern and regal. T’Challa’s is the very last, right next to the door leading to the main dining room. It’s a beautiful black and white portrait. _He is very beautiful_ , Bucky thinks, and pushes the thought (along with so many of his other recent thoughts) deep, deep down.

The table is already laden with heavy trays of food—meat, vegetables, fruits of all sizes and colors. It smells delicious, but Bucky still feels too nervous to eat. T’Challa often takes his meals with his sister and his closest confidants, but tonight, he is alone at the head of the table, a napkin already folded in his lap. He’s dressed for a day of diplomacy in a navy linen suit and a crisp white shirt—he’s not the Black Panther until he needs to be, and he’s not in his royal clothing. He looks like the sort of man Bucky would eye on the Brooklyn streets before hurriedly looking away lest he be caught.

“Do not be shy,” T’Challa says, his voice resonating so deeply in Bucky’s chest that it almost feels like Steve is here, like he’s back. They’re a lot alike, Steve and the king—they’re kind at heart. Kind to the bone. Kind, but carrying heavy, heavy burdens. “Please. Come eat with me. The king’s bodyguard—another beautiful woman with legs and eyes that could kill—raises her eyebrows at T’Challa, but T’Challa shakes his head slightly, giving her a wry smile. “Sit next to me.”

Bucky is used to curling into the shadows, used to making himself small and unseen. The Winter Soldier was good at it, and he thinks _he_ might be good at it, too, if people would just let him _disappear_. He shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes, and instantly feels foolish.

But instead of shrugging him off, or asking his bodyguard to take him back to his rooms, T’Challa stands, setting his napkin on the table. He walks over to Bucky, slow and sure of his movements. In a row, his bodyguards’ eyes follow him, watching his every step. T’Challa stops a foot in front of Bucky, extending his hand, palm up. “Please,” he says easily, a smile playing at his handsome face. “Eat with me.”

The food suddenly smells _intoxicating_ , and Bucky almost feels his stomach turn with hunger. There’s another flashing thought, a humorous one, recalling an old fairy tale—the handsome prince offering his hand to the shy peasant on the dance floor. Of course, the peasant was always a pretty, fair-haired girl, not an ex-assassin trying to shake off some unfortunate brainwashing.

He lifts his hand, pauses, and looks T’Challa in the eye. All he sees is peace, calmness. _How can a man with so much power be so sure of himself?_

And then, T’Challa speaks. “I’m afraid sometimes, too,” he says, voice a low murmur, the sound hushed in the grand room. He has a way of smiling that makes Bucky’s heart hammer—it’s a half-smile, playful and gentle, full of secrets. “It’s alright. Warriors can be afraid, too, right? Just sometimes?”

Bucky holds his gaze for a moment, hand still paused inches above T’Challa’s, mouth set in a grim line. “I hope,” he finally answers, and lets his palm fall into the king’s.

T’Challa wastes no time in curling his fingers around Bucky’s, holding him steady and firm. Right now, Bucky can’t believe this man is afraid of _anything_. This is a man who threw him bodily into a wall, fought him with literal tooth-and-nail, and his hand is warm and soft, his Vibranium ring the only cool reminder of his power.

“Then it is settled,” T’Challa says, and for a moment, his voice wavers, like he did not expect Bucky to comply. “You will dine with me. And then, when we are ready,” he takes a deep breath, eyes suddenly shy, “we will see what other fears we will conquer.”

Bucky falls into step beside the king, and for the first time since going back under, the world makes just a little bit of sense.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sia's "Fair Game"


End file.
